


Branded for Slaughter

by Nervous_Artist



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Tinsworth - Fandom
Genre: Blood and Violence, Guns, M/M, Major Character Injury, Probably sex who knows, Ricky is angry, Tinsley is sad, banjo is nervous, cops are bastards, fellas it’s gay, friends to enemies to friends to... lovers, its the 20’s babyyy- we got flappers jazz and opioid addiction, some hurt/comfort of course, they’re cops (ew I know), this whole story spans like 15 years. You’ll understand when you read it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:27:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22236337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nervous_Artist/pseuds/Nervous_Artist
Summary: “The city swept across the harbor, speckled with twinkling lights. From an outside view, the people here seemed to glow; seemed to live and love voraciously. Some said it was the most beautiful city in the world; the rest of them lived there.”
Relationships: Ricky/Tinsley
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	Branded for Slaughter

_ The car was silent, a jittering ball of nervous energy hovered over the young mens’ scrunched faces, glaringly loud over the hum of the motor. Tinsley let his eyes slip towards the smaller man at his side, a delicate, anxious smile cracking his otherwise stony demeanor. Ricky grinned back; of course he did, the man was absolutely fearless. Tinsley supposed that’s what made him such a good cop.  _

_ As the car bounced along the outskirts of the city, it became increasingly clear that something wasn’t right. The homes were few and far between- completely vacant. If Tinsley hadn’t known better, he would have thought he was in a ghost town. He stared at Ricky. Ricky stared back.  _

_ — _

The city swept across the harbor, speckled with twinkling lights. From an outside view, the people here seemed to glow, seemed to live and love voraciously. Some said it was the most beautiful city in the world; the rest of them lived there. 

Tinsley saw the ugly in everything. For every decadent restaurant there were ten health violations being smothered. For every five star park there were five razor blades taped to the underside of the monkey bars. He loved this city, he really did. He didn’t love the people in it. 

He was reminded of this fact as he drove the cop car through the dicey part of town, the part of the city where a baby can be heard wailing at all hours of the night. A single dog bellowed into the hazy night sky as his high beams skimmed across clotheslines and discarded bike frames. The amber glow of a porch light stole the stage as his tires ground and popped to a halt. 

Something wasn’t right. The atmosphere suddenly became all too tight for his liking, someone stuffing it full until it threatened to tear at the seams. A crackling thread of apprehension was balled up right behind his ears, obtrusive and altogether uncomfortable. Tinsley swiped his hand across the back of his neck to de-tangle it. He only knotted it further. 

The night air rushed into the cabin of the car as he rolled down his window. He heard a small anxious sigh from his rookie in training, a lanky gangling man with a predisposition to awkward silences. The first day they met, the man extended a clammy hand, muttering out a greeting. “ _ Banjo,”  _ he had said, “ _ well my real name is Benjamin but my friends call me Banjo.”  _ Tinsley just nodded, looking him over. He was squirrelly, small beady eyes protruding from his wide skull. A surprisingly large, neat mustache spanned his upper lip, shading an ancient bundle of pinpricks in the basin of his cheeks, corpses of childhood blemishes.

Glancing over at the man now, he was met with scrunched brows, cleaving a ridge into his otherwise soft and doughy face. The look didn’t suit him well, although an anxious look didn’t stretch far on anyone, he supposed. 

They listened for a few long moments, a smooth breeze slipped through the car. A suffocating briny smell clung onto its coattails, stinging their nostrils. Banjo cleared his throat, shifting in the soft leather of his seat. 

“Ready to head up there, son?” Tinsley said. “We don’t hear anything suspicious, do we? So we can make our way up to the house and inquire about a search now.” 

Banjo gave an imperceptible nod, eyes focused on the sloped roof of the house. 

“... And Banjo, what do we do if they refuse the search?” 

Banjo swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing up under his chin in thought. “We… we have to get a warrant.” His voice was a bit high, throaty and thin. It reminded Tinsley of a wind chime. 

“Unless?” Tinsley scraped out the ‘ _ S’  _ in between his teeth slowly. 

“Unlessssss-“ Banjo unconsciously drew the ‘ _ S’  _ thin, parroting the man beside him. “Unless anyone is in immediate danger or the evidence is right in front of us.” Banjo finished, a lick of confidence gracing his words for once. 

“Good boy,” Tinsley muttered unconsciously, head lifting at the bubbling nervous laughter rising from Banjo’s throat. A bloom of red had made its way into the rookie’s face, deepened by the shadow cast under his bowed head. Clearly he wasn’t too used to praise. 

“Okay, erm,” Tinsley said, desperate to end the boy’s discomfort, “let’s head out then, shall we?” 

Banjo nodded his head nauseously, a greasy lock of brown hair clumped over his eyes. Tinsley slapped his thighs, sliding his palms down his slacks, smoothing out a wrinkle or two and grunting a bit to Banjo before clicking open his door. The metallic clank of the door was mirrored a few seconds later by the rookie, car rocking on its tires from the force of the slam. 

Their boots crunched on the gravel as they stepped carefully onto the sidewalk, still warm from the day’s sun. Tinsley could feel the excess heat seep slowly through his soles. Long spears of uncut grass brushed their laces, and Tinsley crushed a stray dandelion under his foot with a light  _ squish.  _

They made it to the door in no time. Tinsley noted the scuffs around the brass knob, deep red paint chipped from an outside force. Two deflated wicker chairs perched on either side of the door, gathering leaves and sticks and pine needles. Tinsley thought the woven strands used to be white, but he wasn’t certain. He suddenly shook himself back to the present and gestured to Banjo, then to the door. Banjo smiled uncertainly. The grin didn’t reach his eyes. 

“I want you to knock, Banjo,” Tinsley said quietly, tilting his head through a sympathetic smile, as if indulging a secret. Banjo screwed up his eyes for a second, nodding vigorously before leaning close and knocking three solid times. They stepped back, giving the door some much-needed personal space. 

A minute, then two, then three. Tinsley raised a clenched fist to knock again, louder this time. The hollow thumps rang out through the street. The entire alley shifted, and he could almost  _ feel _ the residents of nearby houses collectively wrench their curtains closed. “ _ Police! Is anyone home?” _ Tinsley spoke those dreaded words with confidence, though he already knew the answer.  _ Someone  _ was, in fact, home. Tinsley noted warping shadows slip across the shutters before they stepped onto the porch, the crackle of a radio blinking to life. Tinsley’s ear twinged at a soft murmur inside, the rustling of clothing. A small dog yapped twice before falling silent. 

_ Clank _ ; the doorknob rattled where it was nestled against the door. Banjo jerked his head up, sucking in a small breath. Tinsley didn’t do anything at all. 

The door crackled as it opened, breaking the seal on the inside. The hinges squealed in exaltation at being used for once. A few chips of rust flecked down to the concrete below. 

“What?” 

Tinsley straightened up at the foghorn voice, eyeing the pressed white shirt in front of him. 

“We were notified of some noise. Mind if we do a quick search?” The statement wasn’t entirely untrue- they got a call a couple of days ago about some racket from this house, but they had been suspicious about it for quite some time. Different people took residence in it every week, no one seeming to stay for very long, although the owner never rented it out. Tinsley was there to see if anything was amiss, not to arrest. The arrests came later. 

“Uhh,” the man in front of him ground to a halt, biting his thin lip to stave off the request. His voice grew hollow. “We’ve been quiet all night. I don’t think you’ll find anything weird going on. I’ve been alone here for a few days.” He scratched his mop of tan hair. 

“You just said ‘ _ we’.”  _ Tinsley peered over the man’s shoulder into the home. The owner seemed to really like the color orange. “Listen- we don’t want any trouble. We’re on your side here,”  _ a lie,  _ “I just need to do a quick look around to report back to my boss that nothin’ is amiss here. We don’t want the neighbors calling in again insisting that we do a search.”  _ You’re lying again.  _

The man peered behind himself for a long moment, swiping a hand across his neck. His brown expanse of skin was peppered with pale tissue, blotches and slashes pulled together again on their own accord. A small rumble made its way up his throat. “Fine. Fine. Come in.” He sighed as he stepped aside, sweeping his hand toward the grimy interior of the home. 

Tinsley stepped in first. This was Banjo’s first day in the field, and he wasn’t feeling like scarring the boy for life quite yet. He flared his nostrils minutely at the smell of the place. It was acrid- acidic in its sharpness. He expected to find the floor littered in thick rotting vegetable matter, but it was clean save for some blotchy stains. 

“You own this place?” Tinsley made his way through the sitting room into a hallway. Banjo followed behind, somehow looking more nervous than the man taking residence here. 

“Uhh no." The man trailed a few feet from the cops, gaze jumping from one to the other as they turned into a kitchenette area. A small fridge gleamed in the flickering overhead lights. “I’m house-sitting. For my cousin. He and his wife are taking a month long vacation to the east coast… Wanted me to watch their- their dog.” 

“That so?” Tinsley peeked through the open pantry door. It was stocked sparsely. He turned to lean on the low counter, hip bone pressing into the corner. “You live in the city?” He was buying time; whittling the man’s suspicion down to a stop. 

“Uhh, yeah I do. I got a small apartment a few miles west. I visit here often enough.” 

Tinsley hummed, picking at his nails, feigning boredom. He threw a glance to Banjo by his side, who had taken to scratching his mustache with a spindly finger. “Well, I think we’ve seen about as much as we expected. You ready to head out, Banjo?” Banjo nodded, straightening up. Tinsley pushed off of the counter with a grunt, and they all plodded back to the sitting room. “Sorry to bother you, sir. We just wanted to make sure everything was ok here.” 

“Oh it’s no problem.” The man sighed minutely, and Tinsley could see his shoulders relax from where they were plastered against his ears. 

“Oh, one more thing, can I use your bathroom?” Tinsley rubbed the back of his neck, eyes scrunching apologetically, “we’re on duty for the rest of the night.” 

“Uhh, sure.” The man raised an eyebrow, “second door to the left, down that hallway.”

Tinsley nodded slightly, throwing a subtle glance to Banjo before making his way slowly down the hall. Several grainy pictures paraded the wall, each residing in a different frame. He counted the doors as he passed them, one to the right, one to the left, two to the right… here. He glanced back down the hall, making sure he was out of their line of vision. He opened the last door to the right. 

There was a bed shoved to the far corner of the wall, an afterthought. Several items of clothing were strewn across the floor, a couple of candy wrappers, an empty mug. Nothing. He passed the bathroom, opening the second door to the right. Same as last time, a lived-in room, dull, worn through by body after body. The sheets were ratted, the hardwood floor splotched and warped with water stains. Nothing. He opened the first door to the left, scanning. This room was empty save for a small dresser. Tinsley sighed, scratching his head. 

He closed the door silently, and padded over to the first door on the right. He twisted the knob slowly, slowly, trying his best not to make noise. The door swung open silently. Tinsley peered around, dipping his eyes into the darkness. The curtains were drawn, but Tinsley could still see a mass in the far corner. He squinted. The mass moved. He scrabbled for his flashlight, clicking it on in time to meet the eyes of someone he knew very, very well. It hit him in the gut like a gunshot wound. 

  
  



End file.
